


Teacher on Call

by xazliin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, English Teacher Lance, Fluff, History Teacher Keith, Lance wears glasses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12732870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xazliin/pseuds/xazliin
Summary: “Lance McClain,” he says, holding out his hand. Keith takes it, taking note of the freckles splattering Lance’s face. “Aspiring English teacher.”Keith cocks his head, “Aspiring?”“Just a TOC for now,” Lance answers. “I'm kind of hoping Mr Woods has a heart attack so I can take his place.”





	Teacher on Call

Keith will probably die if he has to write another exam. Whoever gave him six classes in one semester is a sick, sick sadist. He never should have skipped that staff meeting last month. It was probably the new law teacher, Lotor. Keith knew better than to trust somebody with hair that white with his portion of the social studies department.

He gathers up his haphazard stack of papers, ballpoint pen smears and all and tips his lukewarm to-go cup of coffee into the garbage can beside his desk. It’s nearly six, late enough for him to use the excuse of food and the rapidly darkening sky to leave. He slips his overcoat over his shoulders. Keith’s long accepted his reality of having nightmares of George Washington rising from the dead to personally review every historical inaccuracy in his exam.

At least he only has five classes next semester.

Keith stuffs the exam papers into his bag, only kind of caring if they get crumpled. That’s a problem for Tomorrow Keith.

He steps out of the room, flicking off the lights and locking the door behind him.

Someone bumps into Keith, knocking the keys from his hand. “I am so sorry!” The other person exclaims. It’s a vaguely familiar man, Keith thinks he’s seen him around the school a couple times. He has tan skin and dark hair. In one of his hands is a pair of glasses.

“It’s fine,” Keith hears himself say.

The man quickly cleans his glasses on his sweater, “Really. I should watch where I’m going.” He smiles, raising the glasses to his face and Keith can feel himself melting right there.

“It’s—it’s fine,” he repeats. He looks away when he feels his cheeks warming, deciding to reach down to pick up his keys. “I’m Keith—Keith Kogane. I teach history,” Keith says, gesturing to the door.

“Lance McClain,” he says, holding out his hand. Keith takes it, taking note of the freckles splattering Lance’s face. “Aspiring English teacher.”

Keith cocks his head, “Aspiring?”

“Just a TOC for now,” Lance answers. “I’m kind of hoping Mr Woods has a heart attack so I can take his place.”

Keith can’t help himself. He laughs, only a little. Just enough to be embarrassed at himself. Mostly at the way all the blood drains from Lance’s face as Lance slaps his hands over his mouth.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Lance says, sounding horrified. “Oh my god! I didn’t mean that. Why did I say that? I am so sorry, I don’t even know why I said that. That is horrible.”

“It’s fine,” Keith feels the corners of his mouth raise up. It has to be about to fortieth time he’s said that. “I felt the same way about Mrs Beaulieu when I first got here.”

Lance smiles shyly, peeking out from behind his hand “Really?”

“No,” Keith chuckles. “Not really. But I can see where you’re coming from.”

“I am so bad at first impressions.” Lance runs his hands up his face and through his hair. “Can we pretend I never said that?”

Keith picks up his bag from the floor, stuffing the keys into his pocket and looking up at Lance, “Sure.”

“Right, well,” Lance begins, adjusting his glasses. He holds out his hand once more, “I’m Lance McClain.”

Keith nods and shakes his hand, “Keith Kogane.”

The two stare at each other in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of the hallway clock tick away the seconds. Keith notices just how easily it is to get lost in the other teacher’s eyes.

“I’ll—uh—see you around?” Lance put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, swinging back on his heels.

“It was nice to meet you, Lance McClain,” Keith says as he walks away, shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. He can see fluffy flakes of snow coming down through the front window. A reminder of Keith’s previous misery. He’ll still have to review the exams when he gets home so they’re ready for Friday.

Over his shoulder he hears Lance reply, “Likewise, Keith Kogane.”

Keith smiles to himself and leaves the building.

 

 

 

It’s still snowing the next morning when Keith steps out of his car in the teacher’s parking lot, coffee thermos in hand. Shivering, he pulls his coat tighter around himself. The snow crunches under Keith’s shoes as he walks. He slept through his alarm this morning. Having to scramble to get out of bed and ready before 8:30.

Thursdays mean his freshman class first period. A class equal parts entertaining and terrifying. The secretary, Slav, greets him as he enters. Keith waves back, more to be polite than anything else, and continues to his classroom. Technically it isn’t even his classroom. He has to share the room with Mr Woods in the third period and Lotor in the eighth (meaning Keith is exiled to the staff room for his prep) due to some nonsensical rule that was only explained by Principal Coran using many hand gestures and a muttered “Budget cuts”.

Either way, Keith has the room six eights of the time, so he calls it his.

He gives his students the time to study for their exams (that Keith still hasn’t finished yet) and luckily the first few periods pass fairly uneventfully.

The last time he tried to eat lunch in his room before Lotor’s class, he was quite literally shoved out five minutes into lunch. So, Keith makes the informed decision to eat his chicken Cesar salad in the staff room. Not many other teachers spend lunch there. Most teachers actually have their own room—or at least civil agreements with whoever shares their room. Usually Keith just sulks by himself in the corner while the P.E. teachers make small talk with each other.

However, when Keith swings open the staff room door, this time he’s greeted with the familiar face of the man he met the night before.

“Keith!” Lance exclaims, way more excited than anyone should be allowed to be.

Clutching his Tupperware of salad close to his chest, Keith waves to him, “Mr McClain.” Keith sits down on the opposite side of the table from him.

It only takes a few seconds for Lance to scoot his chair closer to Keith. “I’m sorry about last night,” he says quietly. “Sometimes I just talk without thinking and I—”

“You can stop apologizing,” Keith says, smiling a little in spite of himself. “I said I understand.”

Lance looks over and smiles at Keith. An unabashed, completely genuine smile. Keith feels his heart do a flip. “That’s good. I’m glad you know I’m not a sociopath or anything.”

“Sounds like something a sociopath would say,” Keith deadpans. He watches Lance’s mouth quirk, like he isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh.

The lunch hour passes in relatively comfortable silence. Keith reviews about half of his freshman class’s exam with _some_ success. It’s hard when he can’t stop looking over at where Lance is sitting. Can’t stop looking at his constellation of freckles or the cute little furrow in his brow as he reads his book. It’s some sort of cheesy romance novel Keith would never look twice at. The cover is a picture of the back of a woman’s corset. Keith doesn’t know how he feels about that.

Every once and a while, when Keith completely unintentionally looks over at Lance, he’ll catch a hint of Lance licking his lips. Or one time licking his finger to turn the page, completely consumed within his novel. Keith doesn’t know how he feels about that either.

 

 

 

By some miracle, Keith does manage to get the exams written before Friday. Enough of his students pass for him to feel mildly positive about it going into the holidays. He’s got the plane tickets down to Texas booked for the first day of the break. It’ll be good to see his dad again. Even better to see Shiro. It’s been harder to keep in contact since Keith moved to New York and Shiro got his firefighting job.

Unfortunately, before any of that happens, he has to chaperone the Winter Formal.

It’s all Lotor’s fault. Once again volunteering the Social Studies department and backing out at the last minute. Not one fibre in Keith’s being believes his flimsy excuse of his cat’s funeral. Actually, no. Keith blames Coran and his complete lack of common sense.

Ugh.

So now Keith lurking along the gym wall, standing awkwardly by himself in an itchy navy blazer. So far the only other teacher’s he’s seen here have been Hunk—the foods teacher—and Allura—the nauseatingly optimistic science teacher. He vaguely remembers Coran and a couple of the leadership students harassing every one who enters for their $20 contribution.

The students are just kind of shuffling around. Keith tries his best to glare at as many of them as possible. He has a reputation to maintain.

There’s a tap on his shoulder and Keith turns to see Lance holding two paper cups of punch. “Drink?” he asks, offering one of the cups to Keith.

Keith takes it smiling politely. Lance is wearing dark jeans and a white tucked in shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Thanks,” he mutters. He feels immediately more relaxed. Just a tiny bit more comfortable. As much as he hates to admit it, Keith doesn’t have many friends on the staff. Lance is probably the closest thing he has to one and they’ve barely spoken two times. And Lance isn’t even technically a teacher here.

“Wait,” Keith says after taking a sip. “Why are you here? I thought TOCs weren’t allowed to chaperone. No offense,” he adds.

“Caching in a favour for Pidge— _Ms Holt_ , I mean.”

“Ah,” Keith takes another sip.

The song changes from something slow and Ed Sheeran sounding to something fast and upbeat. “Oh man, I love this song,” Lance says, because of course he does. Of course he’s the type of person who enjoys meaningless pop songs. Lance downs his entire drink and grabs Keith’s arm. “You should dance with me,” he says.

Keith takes in a sharp breath. His stomach flips. He looks from the teenagers shuffling on the floor to Lance’s face. To the pink slowly rising on his cheeks, to the nervously hopful look in his eyes. “Okay,” Keith says slowly, watching the way Lance bites his lip and turns it into a smile.

Keith lets himself get pulled into the crowd of teenagers. It’s still fairly early in the night, so only a handful are actually putting some energy into their dancing. A different handful turn to look at Lance dragging Keith into the middle of the gym. Keith feels his skin itch with the student’s eyes on him like that. It’s too vulnerable. He looks at Lance’s face, half illuminated with the rainbow light coming from the faux disco ball, and swallows, trying to push the feeling down.

Lance bounces on his heels, moving his arms and body like it’s a completely natural movement for him. He tries his best to follow whatever Lance is doing, but he just feels so…mechanical. Like his arms are too stiff and his feet are rooted to the ground.

Keith feels Lance’s hands come up to his face. Feels Lance’s fingers smooth away the wrinkles in his forehead. “Just relax a little,” Lance whispers in his ear. Keith feels rather than hears Lance’s words, “Try to have some fun.”

It’s a bit easier after that. He lets Lance move his hands for him and Keith goes along with the current of Lance’s movements. Keith probably should be caring about his responsibility as chaperone—should probably care about the couple shamelessly making out less than two feet away from him—but he can’t find it within himself to end the moment. He wants to be able to remember this.

When the song switches back to a slow ballad, Keith pulls his arms away from Lance’s. He doesn’t walk away though. The two of them have this sort of bubble around them.

“Would you—” Keith finds himself saying. He cuts himself off before he can finish the thought. He hadn’t even meant to say it anyways. Barely has any idea where it came from.

Lance cocks his head. It reminds Keith of a Bordie Collie, “Would I what?”

“Forget it,” Keith runs his hand through his hair, wishing he could take the words back. He’s probably broken their little bubble now. The sounds of the surrounding teenagers are creeping in. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh-kay,” Lance speaks. He swings his weight back on his heels. The disco lights shine over his face and Lance chuckles kind of humorlessly, “The funny thing is I had a bunch of these cheesy pick up lines memorized.”

Keith sucks in a breath, “Oh.” He feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

Lance reaches up and scratches the back of his neck, “But, um, now I can’t remember any of them, so.”

“Oh,” Keith repeats. This is unexpected.

“Yeah,” Lance waves his hands in front of him. “ _Tada_.”

“That’s—wow.” Keith bites his lip. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his blazer. Keith can see himself in the reflection off Lance’s glasses. “Would you want to get coffee sometime?”

He watches Lance smile, “That’d be nice, yeah."


End file.
